


Phantasmagoria

by Wrong_Side_Of_Reality



Category: Fall Out Boy, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-16
Updated: 2017-05-16
Packaged: 2018-11-01 08:03:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 13,123
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10917705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrong_Side_Of_Reality/pseuds/Wrong_Side_Of_Reality
Summary: I don't know how to sum things up honestly, Joe and Patrick are just two boys in a very small, quiet town, with quite a few twists. Just read my dudes. Sorry this first chapter is kind of short and uninteresting.





	1. Tuna Sandwiches and Rain

Joe's town is small and humble. The air always seems wet even if the rain has ceased to begin. The days were gray but the nights were clear, it seems as if every star in the sky could be seen. The main pastime of it's people, whether it be recreational or occupational, was fishing. Living here meant Joe was no stranger to "living like a local". Almost everyday was spent on a small wooden dock Joe had built with his father. This dock wasn't as big as it had appeared when Joe was younger. The dock that had once seemed huge, was only big enough for about two average adults. The once evenly coated burgundy paint was stripped and peeling, tiny pieces broken off and floating in the nearby water. The tangled mess of water plant life held the dock dearly in it's place, as if nature had it in a tight hug.

Joe rises early, about 6 in the morning, as he knew there wouldn't be many others fishing at this hour. The threadbare curtains allowed a small amount of light to peek through. Joe yawns and stretches, throwing his legs over the side of his bed. Joe's house is comparable to his town, oddly small and welcoming. Something about a smaller space made Joe feel more comfortable. Joe slides his feet into a pair of slippers and walks as if he had been brought back to life. He pulls on a pair of light cotton pants, a green cable knit sweater, and a grey beanie to cover his mess of overgrown brown curls. He heads upstairs towards the front door. He takes his slippers off again and switches into some more practical slip on shoes. Joe grabs his fishing rod and tackle box before stopping by the corner store to pick up some worms, seeing as the compost bin was empty but a few apple cores and orange peels.

The store clerk hands him a small container around 75 worms in it, each one wriggling with life as they passed over one another. He slides a ten dollar bill across the counter and like always, he smiles and waves good bye. 

The early air was cold and fog covered, unpleasant, like a cold pillow left alone in it's place for a while. The sole biological knife that could cut through the gloom was the rise of the early morning sun. Warm, welcoming, a stark contrast from the heavy haze of grey surrounding it. The fine gravel crunched beneath his feet like crisp autumn leaves, though fall had long since passed. Spring is very over sold, especially where Joe lives. The frequently mentioned new animal births and flowers blooming inevitably were overshadowed by copious amounts of rain and dull days. Joe wasn't complaining though, for him, this was his prime. He thrives under poor weather conditions, and the excess of worms appearing from untraceable holes in the earth was an added bonus. The fog on the water mixed with the darkness that was the sky created somewhat of an angelic yet paranormal effect hovering just above the haven of fish. 

Joe steps onto the aged dock, it wavers underneath his weight as usual. He sits carefully on it's edge as to limit its quivering. He opens the lid to his tackle box and his small plastic container of worms. The worms squirm in delight as they get a taste of fresh air. He fastens a hook to the end of the line before pinching one of the dark red invertebrates between his fingers. It twists and contorts wildly in protest before Joe snags the hook through it's midsection. It grows increasingly limp as the hook enters the murky pool. Joe switches the rod from his right hand to his left, allowing him to eat a sandwich he had prepared a day earlier without getting the remnants of the bacteria ridden creature he'd just impaled. He removes one half from the clear plastic bag and bites a piece off the edge. Joe stares into the fog, his grip on the fishing rod loose, noticing something peculiar about an oversized mass of rocks he knew all too well.


	2. God Forsaken Gulls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All I'm going to say is tuna sandwiches, that's it.

A figure, and a human figure at that, could be seen on the massive boulders. This was odd, he knew that the rocks were a fair distance away, they could be accessed with a boat, and fish could obviously reach that point. But the boats had yet to begin sailing in the new hours of the morning, and fish were neither that shape or size. Not even the strongest swimmers could make it over there due to the distance away and the frigid temperatures that accompanied it. Joe rubs his eyes and like a phantom of the waters, the figure disappears. He shrugs off the occurrence and feels blindly for the uneaten half of his sandwich. To his surprise, it was no longer there.

"The god forsaken gulls stole my sandwich didn't they? They're just flying stomachs." Joe sighs, talking to no one in particular, crushing the plastic bag and placing it in a small compartment in his tackle box. He attends to his fishing rod, nothing yet, he allows some leeway by plunging the hook further into the depths. He turns to close the tackle box when he notices a man leaning his elbows on the edge of the dock, smiling at Joe with eyes fixated on his bearded face. 

His eyes were a bright blue, like the ocean during the peak of summer, and his body wasn't thin, soft could best describe how it looked. His head was topped with some damp blonde hair, a crown of cracked shells encircled his head like a halo, this suited him well considering his almost otherworldly appearance. In his hands, Joe's sandwich. The initial surprise of the man's appearance led to Joe tumbling into the embrace of the twisted weeds.

He only realized that he had lost consciousness as he felt the velvet of the cat tails swaying against his exposed skin and the blazing noon sun shined in his eyes. He blinked the sleep for his eyes only to see the man at his side, wearing the look of a forlorn puppy. He nudged gently at Joe's tattooed arm to wake him from his impromptu nap, looking hopeless as if he had just witnessed a murder. His round face lit up as he saw Joe return to normal, his smile exposing two rows of tiny barbed teeth. Joe looks up, his eyes hooded and heavy, his reaction time delayed, grabbing lazily at the weeds around him for support. He rubs his eyes and wades over to the dock, narrowly escaping an accidental swim. He readjusts his beanie as if nothing had occurred but still the man was asking frantically if he was doing well. Joe had a few questions of his own.

"Who are you? Why did you steal my sandwich? What were you doing on the rocks over there? Why are you swimming this early in the morning?" Joe lists off a million questions, seemingly all at once before the man lays his hand on his arm.

"Calm down and I'll answer," the man says, completely relaxed. Joe complies with a nod and the man continues. "My name is Patrick, but they call me Golden which I'll explain why in a moment. I stole your sandwich since it was tuna and I love tuna, I was on the rocks because I wanted a chance to relax, and I'm swimming this early because, well, I'm a merman," Patrick explains.


	3. Rope-Neck-Crown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might actually be eventful?! What?! At least I hope it will be.

He positions himself on the deck next to Joe. He flashes his calico coloured tail, short and stout like that of a goldfish, the oversized fan at the end a translucent white. Each delicate scale captured both the light and Joe's attention with no intention of letting it go. It was blinding in a way, not the way that you'd want to look away from, but the kind that firmly held your gaze and captivated you to the point where you'd refuse to look away. "I got the name Golden since my tail looks like a goldfish, which doesn't exactly help my situation when most mermen have tails like sharks," Patrick exhales sharply before returning to his cheery disposition. 

Joe doesn't look nearly as lost, nor was he denying that this was unfolding before his eyes, in fact, it all felt natural to him. The way Patrick explained everything made him feel as if mermen were just like them, with an exquisite tail as an added accessory. 

Patrick tugged at a tattered necklace tied loosely around his neck. It wasn't a chain, but a frayed piece of rope with small "charms" attached. They consisted of a paper clip, a pearl, a bottle cap, a shard of glass, and a fishing lure.

"That's quite the necklace you have there," Joe laughs lightly but Patrick appears confused.

"My what now?" Patrick replies, lost as to just what Joe meant by necklace.

"Your necklace, the thing hanging around your neck," Joe explains gesturing towards Patrick's neck. Patrick lets out an audible sigh with the realization, rolling the pearl between his fingertips.

"I just made this thing from items I find. The twisty wire thing is fun to bend, the pearl is pretty, the cap thing is like a hat for fish, the glass is pokey if I ever get in a fight, and the fish baity thing was actually from you, I grabbed it from beside you on the dock. At least you finally gave me a term for my rope-neck-crown," Patrick replies with a smirk. He twirls a few strands of hair around his finger and lets go, forming a damp blond spiral. There is a pause, and Joe clears his throat.

"Are you trying to tell me for one: there's more of you, and two: you get into fights?" Joe chuckles, finding it difficult to keep a straight face.

"Yes and yes," Patrick answers with a smile. "If there wasn't more like me, I wouldn't need something to defend myself. You see, I'm small and not particularly strong compared to my shark tailed brothers and sisters, plus my teeth are dull," Patrick smiles to expose his teeth, tapping the edge of the ivory bones. They were extremely white, forming triangular points that appear rounded at the ends. "Here, I have a question for you," Patrick chirps. "Why do humans catch fish with sticks when you can just do this," just then he gasps before plummeting beneath the water. He resurfaces with a large fish held in his jaws, its scales looking iridescent in the light. Patrick grins widely at Joe, beaming in pride over his great catch.

"I mean, we aren't exactly designed for diving into the water and catching fish, let alone with our mouths," Joe proclaims. "Not to mention it's ridiculously cold in the mornings, and-" 

"Don't be silly, just jump in!" Patrick interjects, tugging on Joe's arm and pulling him from his relaxed position on the dock into the cloudy water. He coughs and splutters from the intake of the filthy fluid, trying desperately to catch his breath.

"Dude, why would you do that?!" He growls, his lungs still raspy with fluid. He wrings out his soggy hat and places it on the dock.

"I-I just thought you'd want to see... Never mind, you probably aren't ready to see that yet. I-I'm sorry," Patrick stammers, tears in his usually calm blue eyes.

"See what? What do you mean?" Joe's anger dissipates, fizzling into a quiet concern. 

"It's okay, just don't worry about it, you'll see it eventually," Patrick's response is vague but it conjures up a tidal wave of thoughts washing over Joe's brain all at once. Patrick exhales slowly before sharply taking in air, eyes widening. He ducks under the surface and disappears from view. Joe sits alone in the water, paralyzed with shock and confusion, his skin pale and cheeks flushed from the frigid temperature of the water.


	4. Pitbull without the wrinkles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Andy? More like angsty am I right? Haha I hate myself.

"Going for a midday swim are we?" A familiar voice is heard. Andy. Andy was one of Joe's fishing buddies who would also frequent the local bars with him, though he has never picked up a drink in his life. He wasn't a tall man, but what he lacked in height, he made up for in strength. He had a full, copper coloured beard with some flecks of grey near the ends, remaining completely unmatched to the wavy brown locks on his head. Most of his face is covered by a pair of dark sunglasses which are attached to him like an extra limb, even though he hardly ever needs them to begin with. He looks stern, like a pitbull without the wrinkles, but he truly is a sweetheart, all it takes is him opening his mouth.

"No I was just... Forget it, you would believe me if I told you," Joe trails off and Andy makes a face like a puppy hearing an unfamiliar sound.

"Are you alright man? You've been off since your dad died and-" 

"Don't talk about my dad, please," Joe cuts Andy off sharply. Andy curls his toes inside his boots and eyes the ground before changing the subject.

"So... Ya wanna go to McGill's? The rest of the fish and game club will be there so I figured you'd want to see the boys," Andy proposes with a half smile and an extended hand. Joe turns to him, moist and a bit angry, before nodding slightly. 

McGill's is a favourite bar of Joe's. The food is great, the beer is great, the /servers/ are great. It was a stereotypical Irish tavern, overflowing with busty bar maidens, ale, and muscular male servants, which Joe appreciated though he'd never tell a soul about it. At least not while sober that is.

"Let me get changed at least, I'm soaked," Joe grumbles and grabs Andy's hand and pulls himself onto the dock, Andy wiping his hand on his pants briefly afterwards.

"Be quick, you take forever to get ready, you're like my mother, dude," Andy nags, he really was the mom friend. 

"Are you sure you should be calling me Mom? You need to take a look at yourself before you analyze me, Mother Hurley," Joe snickers, the water pooling off of his thin clothes.

"It's true though, you take an unnecessary amount of time to get ready," Andy retorts.

"I also have an unnecessary amount of hair to clean,"

"Here's an idea, maybe cut it?"

"Hell no! With that logic you should cut your beard,"

"Yeah right! Why would I do that?"

"For the same reason you'd want me to cut my hair, to make things faster,"

The pointless argument continued until Joe arrives at home. Joe looks Andy up and down.

"Maybe you should change too?" Joe asks.

"What's wrong with my outfit?" Andy replies, clearly offended. Needless to say, everything is wrong with his outfit. He wears an oversized red and black flannel, jogging pants, and a Pantera shirt, all tied together with a slouchy black beanie.

"You have to dress like you were out with your girlfriend even when you're with the boys," Joe adds.

"You sound gay, man, what're you gonna do? Colour coordinate my outfit for me? I-"

"Don't use being gay as an insult, it's not, I'll see you at McGill's later, you go put something else on, at least try and look decent," Joe retorts, trying to close the door gently but ultimately slamming it in the end.  
He tosses his gear aside and slumps down on his bed, he thought Andy was better than that, clearly he thought wrong.


	5. Celtic Regret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is exactly how it sounds I guess.

Patrick is in a rush, to go anywhere, anywhere but there. He swims deep down until his tail sweeps against the sand below. His living conditions were in no way comparable to that of humans, other than the fact that his kind thrived in company, almost forming primitive aquatic colonies. Caves and large formations of rock were always suitable dwellings, it was easy to remain undetected by fishing boats and ships on steroids, plus these hunks of metal usually destroy what lies in their path, not the rocks though. His kind had a child-like saying: "If it's rocky, you're lucky, and if it's flat, you don't want that." Funny how a cheesy rhyme contains words to live by for most of his kind.

He ducks underneath the rock he calls home, entering a natural doorway formed by time. The space was hardly lit, his only source of light was a hole in the stone that he deemed a suitable window. Patrick didn't exactly fit the role of his people, he was a scavenger yes, but he also went out of his way to hunt for food. The scavenger part was obvious as shown by his living space, torn nets served as mats, scrap pieces of wood could form a table, he even keeps a mini fridge that fell off the boat of a group of drunk frat boys. He leans his back up against one of the stones and puts his head in his hands. His pulse quickens and his body shakes. His face turns a deep shade of red and he tries to cry. But he can't, you can't cry underwater.

 

Joe lays sprawled out on his bed wearing nothing but a towel. He knew what he wanted to wear, but something was stopping him from putting it on. He gets a call, it's from Andy.

"Dude are you coming? Everyone's waiting for you!" He shouts through the phone, the background chatter of the bar is overbearing and makes it hard for him to hear what Andy's saying. Joe groans and sits up, pulling on the immaculately ironed dress pants and button up shirt.

"Yes I'm coming," he finally responds, grunting as he forces his shoes onto his feet and heading out the door and sliding his wallet into his back pocket as he leaves. 

He walks sluggishly down the gravel road, his steps uneven from the combination of sleepiness and the holes made by the rain. As he opens the door to McGill's, the rusted bell clangs and a chorus of drunk men greet him. This will be interesting.

One of his best friends, Brendon, was already incredibly drunk. When Brendon drank, sober was not an option. He was tall and very slender, always stylishly dressed with neatly styled black hair. He looks like a god in comparison to the other slovenly fishermen. He didn't anyone think he was a simple pretty boy though, he was one of the fastest fish gutter Joe has ever seen, with the addition of his pin-point accuracy with a gun. But tonight, he was no different from the others. He held some strange drink in his hand and he was laughing at everything, just like the rest of them.

"Hey Joey! My man! You gotta try this, the bar tender says it's called Celtic Sex and it's sick dude," Brendon's speech is almost in comprehensively slurred. Joe is barely through the door and Brendon is already trying to shove a drink down his throat. Great. Brendon stumbles over to the bar and returns with a second glass of the unnatural green drink. 

"Drink up, bro," Brendon says, shoving the glass into his hand. Joe is wary of the foreign drink and by no means should've even considered it, but yet a thoughtless "why not" crosses his mind and he chugs it. Brendon wasn't lying about it being "sick" but the Celtic Sex should've just been called Celtic Regret. Somehow it just shut off his brain, the only thing it's saying is: more drink, please. Brendon acts as Joe's server, continuously bringing him drink after drink. If he wasn't on Brendon's level of drunk, he most certainly was now. 

Joe is leaning against the bar when Brendon calls him over. He wants to sing karaoke with him, this should go smoothly without any embarrassment, right? Wrong. Brendon types in two simple words: That's Life. He knew Brendon was a huge fan of Sinatra so he should've suspected he'd choose something by him. He selects the song and tosses Joe the second microphone. The lyrics appear on screen and Joe starts off early and out of tune. Brendon however, despite being deliriously drunk, still sings both in tune and on time. Joe is practically hanging off Brendon's shoulder, doing a lot more giggling than singing.

Andy sits on the bar stool, sober as ever, laughing hysterically at his friends. He never drank but he isn't a buzz kill about it either. He is everyone's go to designated driver and he doesn't complain. To him, being sober when everyone else is drunk was a huge advantage. He could remember and possibly even record them, needless to say he had hundreds of videos he could use as blackmail if necessary. Joe and Brendon's little jam session of course, was one of those blackmail worthy videos.

After the song finishes, Joe returns to Andy and sits next to him on a bar stool. This is when the incoherent babbling really begins.

"You know what?" Joe begins, his tone of voice inconsistent and a smile plastered on his face. "You deserve better than that girlfriend of yours," he waves his finger in Andy's face as if he is scolding him, it certainly didn't look that way.

"Oh yeah? And who's better than my girlfriend since you seem to know everything?" Andy responds, not actually offended but he made it sound that way to rile Joe up.

"Me," Joe points to himself. Andy looks shocked, seemingly forgetting the fact that Joe was drunk. Joe purses his lips and leans forward, ultimately toppling over the barstool and landing on top of Andy. 

"Dude what the FUCK!" Andy's voice is muffled by the drunk man's constant kissing. He shoves Joe off of him and stands up.

"If you keep this up, man, I don't think I can be around you, I'm leaving," Andy slams his fist against the barstool and storms out the door. The entire bar falls completely silent. Joe may be extremely drunk, but he knew he did something wrong, he wasn't completely delirious. Brendon walks towards him and extends his hand to Joe.

"Maybe we should go, I'll walk you home," Brendon says solemnly. He hauls Joe up from the floor and Joe rests his head on Brendon's shoulder, barely able to hold himself up. Their walk home is very quiet but the few sobs of Joe muffled by Brendon's shoulder. He creaks open Joe's front door, half dragging half lifting Joe down the stairs. He lays him down on the bed, putting a trash can next to it in case of any... Mishaps. Brendon goes into his bathroom to check for Advil or any medication to help him with his hangover which he knows Joe'll have in the morning. Joe never could handle his liquor. Brendon returns to the bedroom only to find Joe asleep on the bed. He pulls the loose knit blanket over Joe's unconscious body before exiting the room. Up the stairs and out the door, as far as his wobbly gait could take him.


	6. Tiger sharks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I literally have no idea how to summarize this one, but you meet a new character so...

Patrick is done crying, or at least trying to. He sits in the corner of the small, cluttered room, rubbing his red eyes in silence, the only company being his mess. He shifts onto his side and embraces the softness of the sand beneath him. This isn't the worst possible situation he could be in, right? He laughs slightly at the thought. It's not like he wouldn't see Joe again, he just startled him, nothing to be too worried about, right? He begins reassuring himself, he hadn't done anything so severe that he would be completely cut out of Joe's life, he thinks so at least, so everything should be fine, it has to be. He really was a mess, not only is he surrounded by it, but he seemed to be taking on it's role as well. He is laughing now when he was crying just moments ago, he really needed to get his emotions in check. Just then there is a knock on his stone doorframe. 

"Knock, knock!" The man repeats the sound vocally just as a parrot would. The knocking is not even necessary, he would come in anyway. It was Pete, an obnoxious yet affectionate loud mouth with a shark tail. He had short ebony hair and a scruffy chin, almost always wearing a mischievous grin stretched across his lips. He really was a battle axe of a merman, he would constantly fight with other mermen and various aquatic creatures, the epitome of a tiger shark. He holds numerous battle scars and his stripes tell his story like tattoos would for a human. He's basically the bad ass older brother that Patrick never had or asked for really, not that he would change that.

Pete lays down next to Patrick and supports his head with his hand. 

"Are you doing alright buddy? You look awful," Pete asks with worry. He means well but he's terrible with words, not a complete social idiot, just bad with words.

"Wow, thanks, I'm doing fine now really, I was just wallowing in self pity earlier, just hung up over some previous events," Patrick replies, hinting a mixture of seriousness and sarcasm.

"Do you mind indulging me in those previous events you were talking about?" Pete asks, gently nudging Patrick's arm. 

"I don't want to," Patrick replies bluntly. He knows he would inevitably get upset again if he went into detail again. Pete sits up and folds his hands in his lap, sighing quietly.

"Alright, it's your choice, whatever makes you happy," Pete gently places his hand on Patrick before his expression quickly changes. "Oh and to change the subject, I saw you with that guy on the dock, y'know, and I'm rooting for you," he gives Patrick a thumbs up and winks, grinning widely and exposing several rows of his sharp, white teeth. Patrick's jaw drops and he manages to stutter out something that sounds like "thank you but I hate you now" but he can't tell exactly what it was that he said. It didn't take long for Pete to leave, but he left Patrick with an advisory to sleep given the time, and then he exited. Patrick does as he's told, remaining in the same spot on his side and eventually drifting off. Tomorrow would be better, he just knew it.


	7. Autopilot won't prevent plane crashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is... Um... Just read it I don't want to spoil anything.

Joe rises early the next morning, as always, but to call it rising would be ill fitting. Something more suitable would be resurrecting from the dead since that was just how he felt, dead. He tumbles out of what great height his bed seemed to be perched at, onto the hardwood beneath him. He hisses at the combination of pain, light sensitivity, and a throbbing headache, a trifecta of nuisances. He rubs his puffy eyes, red from the dynamic duo that was tears and lack of sleep. He feels around the nightstand for the bottle of advil, he figured Brendon would've left some for him. He grabs the small bottle and fusses with the cap, stupid child-proof lids. He eventually popped the top off of it and swallows two pills without water. He gags slightly but he manages, vowing never to do that again without water. He gets up, relying heavily on the aid of his nightstand and bed to do so, before lazily flopping down on the bed once more. What motivation he did have however, was simply in hopes to see Patrick again, what a rare mood he was in. He places the pills back on the nightstand and hoists himself up from the bed once again, his legs weak beneath him. By crooked steps, he makes his way towards the door, adjusting last night's outfit and slipping a pair of comfortable shoes on his feet. Out the door he went, no tackle box, just he and his live in skin.

 

Patrick is becoming accustomed to Joe's timings, Joe is a creature of habit after all. He always arrives between 6:30 and 7:00 in the morning to fish, leaving around 2:00 or 3:00 to do things with Andy (those things were unknown to Patrick) and he occasionally returns around 11:00 or 12:00 at night, without any gear, just himself, his thoughts, and the echoed silence that was the night. 

Patrick sits in the water, propped up by his elbows on the dock. His round cheeks are squished by the pressure of his hands, he looks like a happy fish, which was like 3/4 true. Waiting, waiting, waiting. Patrick feels himself growing sleepier as time goes on, he hasn't a watch to check, let alone any viable entertainment, in short, he was extremely bored. As his lids grow heavy, he hears a sound. A door slamming. Joe! He perks up almost immediately, his cheeks accidentally rosy due to his slouching.

"Hey," Joe says lazily, positioning himself at the edge of the dock, sharper than he had desired, causing him to grunt slightly. Patrick grins widely and replies with an overly enthusiastic "hello!" Joe tries to focus his attention on Patrick but it's a little hard to do when it feels as if he has a power drill forced against his skull. 

"How are things?" 

"Not so good,"

"Why?"

"Friend troubles,"

"Oh."

The torture of small talk. Patrick was always better at deeper conversations. He sees several different opportunities to start one with Joe, but he's far too concerned with his emotional state that could break what fragile bond they've formed. Joe dangles his legs off the edge of the dock and eyes his feet. Tears begin forming in his eyes, falling one by one onto last night's pants. Patrick notices and begins to panic. He never knew how to act around emotional people. He mutes his mind and puts his heart on autopilot, but sometimes autopilot is unable to prevent plane crashes.


	8. Words Like Untied Shoelaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one is short but it's pretty good, I promise.

Patrick pulls Joe down to his level by the collar of his now disorderly dress shirt, straight into the water. /stop stop stop you're going to regret this/ Patrick's internal thoughts are practically screaming at him. He doesn't listen. He can't stop now, he can't make a scene like he did last time, he just has to go with it. His chest feels heavy as he wraps his tail around Joe. /This is wrong, Patrick, this is all wrong/ He doesn't care. /you're taking advantage of him for your own personal gain, he won't ever love you if you do this/ That singular statement catches him off guard. It's right. How could he treat him like this? He can't. He can't do this. His lip quivers and he leans into Joe's shoulder, forgetting that his tail was still loosely wrapped around Joe's waist. He looks up, eyes glassy with tears, and Joe simply smiles. He rests a hand on Patrick's shoulder and begins to speak.

"Why'd you stop? You cannot tell me that showy display was simply for a hug, you were into it, you were into me-" Patrick pushes Joe's hair back and plants a kiss neatly on his forehead. Patrick's mouth wears a small grin as he pulls away, but his eyes wear worry and sadness. 

"I'm sorry," Patrick replies. He tries to dive in but Joe grabs his hand.

"No wait, please, stop trying to get away from me when you think things are going wrong! Nothing you've done thus far has been wrong, what's wrong is leaving me without any explanations," Joe exclaims. Patrick turns to face him again.

"Joe, I'm sorry but I can't- I can't tell you why I act the way I do I just- I lose control sometimes and- I-I gotta go" he trips over his words like untied shoelaces as he clumsily dives in again. Joe can't stop him now. He tries to grab even a bit of the silken fan of Patrick's tail but it slips through his fingers. He's gone.


	9. God Dammit Patrick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to summarize these chapters as anymore yikes. I just hope you enjoy I guess.

Joe grabs a fistful of wet cloth from his shirt in one hand and slams the other onto the dock.

"God dammit Patrick," Joe grits his teeth. Angry tears. They are very different from tears of excitement or sorrow. They're bitter, they burn, they hold so much more emotion than any other. They are the flame you had been trying to extinguish for what seems like forever, but they're still there. Joe bites his lip in attempts to hold them back, but it only causes more damage. He's soaking wet and now his lip is bleeding. Great. Suddenly he feels a tap on his shoulder followed by a familiar voice.

"Hey, who's Patrick?" It's Brendon. Joe snaps his neck back so swiftly yet jarring that it cracks.

"Here's a better question, why are you in the water? Are you feeling okay? You got pretty drunk last night," Brendon continues, keeping a serious tone throughout.

"Yeah I'm fine," Joe replies dryly, using the dock to pull himself out of the water. He sits on the edge of the dock, the water pooling off of him.

"So I'm assuming you don't want to go drinking again, do you want to go dry off and get coffee instead?" Brendon proposes.

"I'd rather just go dry off and go back to bed, I'm honestly exhausted," Joe replies, pulling the hair from his eyes.

"Okay that's understandable, but we're going tomorrow, understood? I don't hang with you enough," Brendon says as he pokes his pointer finger into Joe's chest. Joe simply nods as he stands up to walk away, leaving a trail of dirty water behind him. He should shower, he felt disgusting.

He slams the front door behind him, running to the bathroom as quickly as possible so he wouldn't have to wash the floors after. He disrobes and turns the water on to a scorching hot temperature, he doesn't mind the heat though. He lets the dirt and sand trickle off of his untrimmed body. It was quiet, he didn't like it, the only sounds being his breathing and the water going down the drain is off putting and it bothers him. There are shower singers and shower thinkers, the ones who loudly express their emotions through song, and those who journey into the deepest parts of their minds without saying a single word. Joe is a shower thinker, down to each word in the unwritten definition, and the silence clearly didn't help that. He doesn't want his mind to wander, he just wants to get clean, though he can't really change where his mind chooses to go. He throws his fist against the tiled wall and shuts the water off with great force. He vigorously dries off and tosses the towel to the floor. He closes his bedroom door and pulls on a pair of blue pyjama pants hastily, throwing himself onto the bed. He smothers himself in his pillow.

"God. Dammit. Patrick."

He falls asleep.


	10. Right next to him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick comes to a realization. This is a much lighter chapter than most of the other ones.

Patrick swims faster than he ever has before, but this catches Pete's eye. Pete could match Patrick's speed easily so he did just that. 

"Woah woah woah, Buddy, you gotta stop for a second," Pete tugs on Patrick's arm and he slows to a stop. Patrick's eyebrows furrow, not with anger, but with the impossible underwater tears that he couldn't release. Pete swims in for a hug.

"Okay breathe, Golden, breathe. Now tell me if you can, what exactly happened," Pete rubs Patrick's back in a rhythmic motion in attempts to console him.

"He's gonna hate me now, I'm so selfish, I only want him for what he can give me," Patrick sobs into Pete's shoulder. Something inside knows this is completely untrue, but he's not about to believe a singular feeling when the rest are certain he's in the wrong.

"Now, you and me both know that's completely untrue, I see that look in your eye when you talk to him, you've never looked at anyone like that before, you love him, Golden, I see it, you see it, you feel it. It's love, Golden, love." Pete has never been the best with words, but what he's saying is right, and it really struck a cord with Patrick.

"I do," Patrick sniffles. "I love him, Pete, I really do," finally admitting it to himself feels absolutely amazing. It silenced the loud voices telling him he wasn't truly good enough or was unworthy of Joes attention, let alone his love. He hugs Pete tightly with gratitude. Pete smiles with what he has done, his brother figure finally felt good enough, and that was all he wanted, he wanted his Golden to be happy. 

"Now, I heard, after you left Joe, that he went to bed, so you'll have to go tomorrow morning if you want to say anything to him, okay?" Pete places both hands on Patrick's shoulders before he could swim off to go find Joe with no avail. Patrick nods quickly, his eyes wide.

"As for now, you can do whatever you want! Go hunt some fish, find some treasures, sleep! There's endless possibilities!" Pete makes wide gestures for emphasis and Patrick eyes him intently. He really should sleep, he slept fitfully for the past few nights, worried sick about Joe, he needed some rest. 

"Thank you so much Pete! You're the best brother I could ask for!" Patrick pulls Pete in for yet another hug. The combination of the overwhelming child-like happiness in Patrick's voice and the fact that he just called Pete 'brother' made Pete smile wider than ever before. Patrick really did spread his emotion to Pete like an infectious laugh. Patrick waves goodbye as he swims into his dwelling. From there he allows himself to do just as he's been lacking, sleep rest fully. The soft sand at the bottom of his dwelling is so welcoming that he almost falls asleep immediately. He admires the charms on his necklace, especially the few that he took from Joe, tracing his fingers around their edges. He presses them to his chest, regardless of sharp edges, and his eyes flutter closed, it was like Joe was right next to him.


	11. Day dreaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I think the title explains this chapter's contents pretty well.

While Patrick is able to sleep peacefully, Joe's was fitful. He had already woken up 5 times and his pillow case was uncomfortably damp from his tears so he decided to simply stay awake from then on. He didn't know what to do, it is only 4:30 and he was at a loss. He paces the house, lies back down, paces again. He thinks about Patrick, much to his own dismay. That's it, maybe he'd be awake at this hour! No, he's probably still upset with him, scratch that. He makes a mental list of things to do, but none of them are interesting enough. 5:30. At least he passed at least some time. Screw it, he'd go to the dock, regardless if Patrick is there or not, that's all he wants to do right now. He puts on a comfortable T-shirt and jogging pants, pulls a pair of shoes on, and heads out. 

The sun had yet to rise, so visibility was limited, not like it was hard to make it to the dock when it was just across the road. Silence. Not a bug was buzzing, not even the occasional cab of drunks went by. Complete silence. He sits down on the dock and pulls his knees to his chest. He runs his hand over the cat tails, creating that familiar swishing noise. He eyes the sky above him. Mysterious. Beautiful. He couldn't help but be reminded of Patrick with those two words. Patrick, he couldn't stop thinking about Patrick. He tries so hard to forget about him, just for a moment, but something always seems to remind Joe of him. He hopes Patrick is alright, he didn't mean to stir up anything, he just wanted an explanation. He lays back and stares up at the sky. 

He plays many scenarios out in his head, what if he could introduce Patrick to his friends? What if Patrick had legs and could take walks with him? What about dancing with him if he had legs? Joe laughs in spite of himself. These were fantasies for a reason, they won't ever happen, but for one reason or another, Joe doesn't even believe himself. He lets out a quiet sigh as he leans back onto his hands. He checks his watch, 6:30, had he really been daydreaming for that long? Brendon would be coming to see him in an hour. He should at least try and look presentable, it was Brendon after all. He watches the morning sunrise and smiles at the body of water before heading back to his house to change.

He runs downstairs and slides his closet door open. He drags his fingers across the many proper looking shirts. He pulls out two options, the lilac purple or the sky blue shirt. He holds either shirt up to him many times before deciding on the lilac shirt. He pulls it on and smooths the wrinkles. He chooses one of his many pairs of tight dress pants and tucks the shirt in, completing the look with a black belt, tie, and pair of shoes. He smiles and points his fingers like tiny guns at his reflection in the mirror. He looked good, no one could tell him otherwise. He hears a knock at the door. Was Brendon early or was he just overly indecisive? Joe didn't know, nor did he care to know, so he simply answers the door and abandons the question.

"Coffee time!" Brendon exclaims, oddly cheery for being awake this early in the morning. He knows Brendon isn't a morning person, everyone knows, he's very vocal about it. His hair is slicked back, not a hair out of place, and he wears a suit jacket with a light blue shirt underneath. Good thing he decided against the blue shirt in the end.


	12. Demitasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chapter with coffee and accidental confessions. Enjoy!

"Let's go!" Brendon whines. "All the coffee is going to be gone!" He adds for emphasis. Joe rolls his eyes but complies as Brendon grabs his hand and drags him down the road. The shop is called Demitasse, which Brendon said is French for half cup or something, Joe didn't really sweat the small stuff like translations or anything, he just knows the coffee is always great. 

Brendon is practically running down the road, Joe really didn't know what has gotten into him. He only slows down when he encounters the café's front door. He flings it open and chooses a seat for them. They are almost immediately greeted by an average sized woman with brown hair in a messy bun and bright blue eyes behind cat eye glasses. 

"What can I get for you?" She asks with a welcoming smile. Brendon orders something fancy and Spanish, not to mention equally as expensive. He kisses the waitress's hand for good measure. 

"May I say you look as beautiful as ever, Sarah," Brendon compliments the waitress, holding her slender hand in his. She practically melts with his every word. Her cheeks hold a rosy red colour and she tries to hold her notepad in front of her face. Joe simply rolls his eyes and asks if he would be able to order any time soon. He tries not to come off as rude but he can't help but be overly sarcastic.

Joe orders the simplest possible latte considering he couldn't pronounce half the names of the beverages on the menu. The waitress scribbles down several barely legible notes before dashing off to the kitchen.

"Wow are you always this charming or do you like her?" Joe smirks, folding his hands on top of the table. Brendon swats his arm playfully before responding.

"Yes I like her if you couldn't tell, she's absolutely stunning," Brendon exaggerates a little too much, waving his arms as he spoke.

"I wouldn't know," Joe mumbles under his breath. This causes Brendon to perk up. Joe swears that Brendon is hyper aware of his surroundings at all times, like some sort of superhero or something.

"What was that?" Brendon asks, cocking his head. He heard him the first time, but he wasn't sure about context. Where he is sharp in hearing, he lacks in terms of being able to read people. Joe idly stares at his hands to avoid eye contact.

"Nothing, I was just talking to myself," Joe responds halfheartedly. /Kill me quick/ Joe's mind is racing. /not now, dear god not now, I was actually enjoying myself for once/

"No you weren't," Brendon's tone is by no means serious sounding, but the bluntness of his statement causes Joe to look him in the eye.

"You were casually responding to what I said, even though you were trying to make it look like you didn't care," Brendon's deduction skills are better than Joe thought initially. /He's onto you, do something/ Joe's mind gives him vague commands and he begins to tremble. He is at a loss for what to do.

"Are you trying to say you like men?" Brendon continues, raising his eyebrows. Joe swallows hard. He's fucked. Where's the waitress with the coffee so there's something else for Brendon to focus on other than him? He stops thinking and blurts out what was on his mind.

"Yes, I do."


	13. Flight Reflex

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe is on a mission to go get his mans. Enough said I guess.

"I knew it!" Brendon exclaims, slapping his hands on the table top and launching a fork into the air, causing every customer to seemingly snap their heads in his direction with unamused expressions on their faces. Joe's worried expression fades into confusion.

"Y-you did?" He stumbles over his words and tugs at his shirt collar.

"It's pretty fuckin' obvious, dude. How you dress, you're always so close to me, the way you kissed Andy, you can't tell me you would ever kiss a woman like that, drunk or not. The list goes on and all signs point to gay," Brendon explains laughing a little. Was it really necessary to bring up Andy? Joe hadn't seen Andy in days let alone allow a thought of him to cross his mind. Now it all comes rushing back, Brendon just opened a flood gate that feels like it had been rusted shut for years. He wanted to mend their friendship, but he had no idea how to. What would he possibly say? Sorry I tackled you to the ground and essentially mouth raped you while drunk when you have a girlfriend with the additional fact that you are as heterosexual as they come? He hates the seemingly insatiable feeling of guilt for PDA and drunkenness, but some inconvenient mental stands between him and clarity. He's stuck. Like a mime in a figurative box, he can't seem to get out of this mess.

He bites down on his lip, fighting back tears as Brendon grabs his hand.

"Hey, look at me, I'm not going to shun you like Andy did, I'm here for you, don't you ever doubt that," Brendon lifts Joe's chin so their eyes meet, smiling warmly. Seemingly at the worst possible time, Sarah returns with their coffees. She looks at Joe with concern, then back at Brendon. They nod at each other, and she grabs a travel package of Kleenex for Joe from her black apron pocket. She slides their coffees in front of them, advising to ask for her if they need anything.

"Thank you," Joe sniffs, Sarah smiles at him hoping it would cheer him up a bit. Her manager always says good hospitality can improve anyone's day, which she tries to believe but she knows it's not true in the least.

"Here, let's change the subject, we don't want you crying into your coffee, do we?" Brendon jokes in attempts to lighten the mood. He dips a finger in the whip cream on top of his coffee and smacks his lips before speaking.

"So, who's Patrick? You don't have to say anything if you don't want to, but I was just wondering," Brendon asks passively. Joe jumps at the question and they are silent for a brief moment. As much as he wants to simply avoid responding, he answers anyways, seeing as he accidentally got a hugely important part of him off his chest.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Joe replies, taking a sip of his hot beverage.

"Oh bullshit," Brendon's brows furrow and his glasses steam up with the heat of his fancy coffee blend. Joe sighs in frustration but he continues.

"Fine, he's a friend of mine but, aw god dammit Brendon you're going to think I'm insane but, he's a merman. A merman who refuses to tell me hardly anything," Joe pouts. Brendon doesn't look confused nor disbelieving, but instead he stares at Joe wide eyed like a small child, intent on learning more.

"He sounds awesome, when can I meet him?" Brendon blurts out with an enormous grin. Joe is surprised by Brendon's immediate acceptance but he knows he shouldn't expect any less from him.

"Okay but in all seriousness," he continues. "What isn't he telling you? What did he do?" Brendon's sudden questions are overwhelming for Joe, but he attempts to respond to them anyway.

"Well, he tried to kiss me yesterday, but he seemed to get scared by it and stop for whatever reason, and he wouldn't tell me why, he just tried to get away from me. He won't tell me anything and it hurts, Brendon, it hurts," Joe rambles on, creating a cocktail of explanation and emotion.

"Woah, stop for a second, he tried to kiss you?" Brendon seems more shocked by that minor piece of information rather than the fact that Patrick is a merman.

"Yes? Why is that so shocking to you?" Joe asks with mock offense.

"No reason. But anyway, I think I can help," Brendon proposes, taking another sip of his frothy coffee, licking a bit of foam of his top lip.

"So, I suggest that you take his hands in yours, look him directly in the eye, and ask him about it. Don't be too blunt, but tell him how you feel, since it seems like he really does use his flight reflex as a crutch," Brendon actually sounds wise, which is a bit strange for Joe to process. 

"Here, I'll pay for your coffee, now take it to go and get your mer-boyfriend back!" Brendon slaps a twenty dollar bill on the table and shifts his eyes towards the door without gesturing. Joe flushes at the sound of mer-boyfriend, and as silly as he felt, he liked the sound of it. He thanks Brendon profusely for paying and rushes out the door, nearly spilling the latte. He breaks into a coffee conscious sprint, he didn't want to keep him waiting. Although everything else Joe has admitted to Brendon has been hard for him, one thing he admits to himself is quite simple, Patrick is not just a merman who visits his dock each day, he is much more than that to Joe. He's not a mere fishing buddy or companion to him, he is a beautiful man with an equally as beautiful tail to match, a beautiful man that he loves.


	14. Fables and Spells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kind of important I guess. Enjoy!

Patrick is convinced Joe isn't going to come at all and he feels it's all his fault. But still, he waits, he hasn't given up hope yet. Waiting, waiting, if only mermen had watches. The fact that Joe isn't there at his usual time is a red flag for Patrick, but, he continues to wait. He folds his arms and rests his head on top of them, his pudgy cheek squishing from pressure. He is fading away fast, not from lack of sleep, but out of sheer boredom. He eventually succumbs to his boredom and falls asleep. It is within a few moments of Patrick that Joe reaches the dock, clambering around loudly and completely oblivious to the sleeping man in front of him. As he goes to sit down, he scares the chubby man from his slumber. Patrick's initial reaction was to splash as much water as he could in Joe's face as a defense mechanism.

"Do you really have to get me wet every single time I come here?" Joe jokes, slapping his knee. It doesn't take him long to switch to a more serious tone, without sounding overly condescending. He does just as Brendon instructed, taking Patrick's hands in his and looking him in the eye.

"So," Joe pauses, taking in a short breath. "I've noticed you've really taken a liking to me recently, y'know with you trying to kiss me and all," the word kiss made Patrick's face lose all colour and he began to squirm slightly.

"I just don't see why you would even be interested in me, I'm pretty boring, and I'm average at best in the looks department, so I honestly don't get it," Joe belittles himself and Patrick frowns but says nothing, it is his time to listen, not to add his two cents in.

"So, this is kind of my round about way of asking, what do you see in me? And do you have any ulterior motives?" Joe continues. Patrick swallows hard but he doesn't protest. He can't run, or rather swim away from every minor problem he faces, he needs to finally fess up.

"I-I love everything about you. Your smile is always so bright, your eyes are clearer than the water I swim in, and your hair, oh your hair, it's always just messy enough that you want to put your hands through it," Patrick is practically gushing over the man before him.

"But," he pauses. "I guess you could say I sort of have an ulterior motive," Patrick's face looks grim with embarrassment.

"And what would that be?" Joe is more curious than disappointed with Patrick.

"Well, let me explain, and it might take a while," Patrick continues. With that, Joe makes himself as comfortable as the dock allowed him to be. 

"So, there is a fable amongst my people, a spell almost, and I know many who have successfully gone through with it. Essentially, it works like this, if I find someone who I fall in love with, and that person returns my feelings and we kiss, I can lose my tail and gain legs instead, providing the kiss isn't forced." Joe's eyes are wide with shock, not the kind of shock that would cause you to get up and run away, but the amazed kind of shock, he was in awe. He feels selfish for a moment, but he begins to think back to his morning daydreams and grins slightly.

"But, I've been hesitant because I feel guilty, like I'm using you or something, or maybe you don't even love me back, so that's why I kept spontaneously leaving you after leading you on, I'm sorry." Patrick explains, staring down at their interlocked hands. Joe squeezes Patrick's hand and runs the other through Patrick's mess of blonde hair. 

"You know I love you, right? You don't need to doubt that, you just make me worry when you show me affection and then proceed to dart away, I always feel like I'm hurting you and I hate that," a loving smile forms on Joe's lips as he tucks Patrick's shaggy bangs behind his ear, tracing his fingers down Patrick's cheekbone. Staring into Patrick's sad blue eyes felt unbearable, Joe couldn't take it. It's time for Joe to let his heart make decisions for him.


	15. Green flecks and faint freckles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An EXTREMELY short but remotely interesting chapter

Joe draws himself in closer to Patrick, without hesitating to get in the water like he has done in the past. The proximity between he and Patrick allows him to discover things about Patrick's face that he had never been close enough to notice before. The flecks of green that flicker in his eyes when he sneaks a glance at Joe, the faint freckles he gets whenever the sun was out, his beauty truly is otherworldly. The air smells of sea salt and pure intentions, making the atmosphere feel light, but the look in Patrick's eyes is a dead giveaway that he scared. Patrick laces his fingers with Joe's and squeezes softly, his heartbeat quickens as Joe pauses just inches away from his lips, his breaths warm and shaky. At that moment, kissing Patrick feels almost instinctual for Joe. So he does it.

He knows that's what he himself wants, and he knows that Patrick feels the same, with the benefit of knowing that it wouldn't be long until Patrick had legs like he has. What he doesn't know, is how much the process of tail to legs would affect Patrick. His tail was not simply a layer of skin you could shed, falling into a glittery pile like some sort of elaborate snakeskin, no, it was far worse than that. Patrick lips are soft and warm, a bit salty from the water. Despite the saltiness of his lips, he tastes sweeter than Joe could ever imagine. That's when it began.


	16. Transformations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Does this even need a summary? I don't know.

The shooting pain. Like a gunshot wound to Patrick's tail, it hit him suddenly and sharply. It feels as if they are breaking his bones and then making a feeble attempt at putting them together again. The fans of his tail, which were perhaps the most sensitive parts of the entire tail begin splitting and falling off, with new tissues and bone matter forming to create feet. Patrick tries his hardest not to writhe in pain, but it is affecting him severely. The pain travels to the base of his tail, where the bones that were once neatly interlocked are separating to form the structure of his legs with muscle forming on top of the bones. The scales of his tail attach to the newly formed bones and muscle mass, losing their shape and creating skin. The cracking noise is almost unbearable so he squeezes Joe's hand harder for comfort. Patrick whines pitifully between kisses, a few tears rolling down his cheeks, one hand holds Joe's hand and the other grips his shirt. Patrick is close to his breaking point when the pain reaches its final destination. He deepens the kiss to distract himself, he is already becoming more aggressive with his kissing as the pain worsened. The final large bones in the upper portion of his tail are separated, following the same procedure as the lower tail, except for the extra tissue and nerve endings used to create genitals. 

Only did Joe stop when he notices the scales that once felt rough against his leg were now in the form of remarkably soft skin. 

"Oh my god," Joe says, astonished. "I'm so sorry, why didn't you tell me it would hurt you?" Joe pulls the hair away from Patrick's eyes again.

"I didn't want to worry you. But look at me now!" Patrick kicks his legs out of the water and smiles through tears. Joe pulls him into a cautious hug, too concerned to injure Patrick any further. It takes a moment for the fact that Patrick was nude below the waist to resonate with Joe. 

"Wait here for a second," Joe snaps up quickly, running towards his house. Patrick complies, ducking under the water. Patrick grabs the few remaining pieces of his tail before they reached the bottom, only a few golden scales and a part of his fan remained. 

Pants, pants, Joe had to find him some pants. Watch Patrick get arrested for public indecency on his first day of having legs. He snatches a pair of oversized, heather gray jogging pants from off his bed and a black towel from the bathroom, rushing back out to greet Patrick. 

"Here cover yourself, dry off, and put these on," Joe directs, laying the pants on the dock and handing Patrick the towel. Patrick complies, hoisting himself onto the dock and covering himself with the towel. He cannot stand for long though, inevitably falling into Joe.

"I figured you wouldn't get the hang of walking immediately, you're basically a baby," Joe laughs with Patrick awkwardly hanging around his neck. Patrick tries to hold onto Joe and hold up the towel at once, but he ends up being cradled by Joe as he holds the towel up for him instead.

"Okay just put these on, okay?" Joe asks, sounding slightly impatient. He complies, steadying himself more and pulling them on. Joe pulls the towel away to reveal the new Patrick. Patrick curls his toes and clasps his hands in front of him, embarrassed by all the attention Joe was giving him. Something about seeing Patrick in those jogging pants made him smile. The pants were too big for Patrick's little legs, making him look adorably small. Joe tosses the towel over his shoulder and grabs Patrick's hand firmly. He turns to face Patrick and smiles.

"Where do you want to go first?" Joe asks, squeezing Patrick's hand.

"Wherever you are is where I want to be," he kisses Joe neatly on the cheek.

"I didn't know mermen had legs," a familiar voice registers in Joe's mind. In his peripherals, he sees Brendon, who stands behind them, two hands wrapped around a to-go cup of coffee.


	17. Milkshakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not even going to summarize it, if you've gotten this far then you clearly don't think this is utter shit so just read.

"So either I missed something important or you lied to me," he continues. Joe drapes his arm over Patrick's shoulder and they turn to face him, Patrick still clutches the remains of his tail close to his chest. 

"Yeah, you definitely missed something important, this is Patrick by the way," Joe replies with a feeble grin. Patrick waves rather than shaking Brendon's hand, still not fully understanding the concept of human etiquette. 

"This is my tail!" Patrick chimes in, cheerily holding the remains of his tail out for Brendon to see. Brendon's eyes widen as he reaches for the pieces.

"Is it okay if I touch it?" Brendon asks out of courtesy. Patrick nods vigorously and hands him the pieces. Brendon holds the fan up to the light, eying it closely. He traces the smooth shape of the scales with his fingers, admiring them with wondering eyes.

"Dude, you weren't kidding! He really is- or was, a merman." He returns the pieces to Patrick. Joe nods slowly, grinning with the look of "damn right he was" written all over his face. 

"So where do you plan on taking him first? Bar?" Brendon draws out the "a" in bar for emphasis, nudging Joe's arm with his elbow. Joe cocks an eyebrow.

"Can mermen even have liquor?" He asks, turning to face Patrick. Patrick shrugs, smirking.

"Sure, let's allow Patrick, my previously-a-merman-now-human-boyfriend to meet literally everyone I know on his first day of human status, that'll bode over well." Joe's voice oozes with sarcasm. Then, it resonates with him, he just said boyfriend.

Boyfriend? Sounds nice, but is the feeling mutual? He looks over at Patrick for approval and Patrick confirms his feelings with a smile and a tight hug.

"Well then it's settled! Patrick's going to his first bar!" Brendon shouts, grabbing Joe's hand and dragging both he and Patrick behind him.

The door flies open with a familiar clang of the ancient bell and the chorus of drunks being especially friendly as always. Joe is always content with how warm and welcoming McGill's was to him, it always felt safe. 

The three sit together on barstools lined up side by side. For whatever reason though, Joe feels paranoid, like people are looking at Patrick strangely, since no one had ever seen him before. A bartender promptly comes over to serve them.

"What can I get you boys- oh? Who's this new guy?" She shoots Patrick a flirty look and adjusts her tight-fitting green top. Joe notices her showy displays but remains calm.

"This is Patrick, my boyfriend," Joe's voice is sharp with bitterness as he grabs Patrick's hand and traces small circles on it with his thumb. Patrick shifts uncomfortably in his seat and blushes at Joe's jealousy. The red headed bartender takes a step back, looking embarrassed.

"Oh, I-I'm sorry, I-I didn't know," she pulls her top up, covering herself more and tries to cover her face as she walks away. Another bartender takes over in her place.

"I'm sorry about that, Marie really doesn't know when to take a hint, she REALLY wants a boyfriend," the new bartender says with a sincere smile, pulling back her ebony locks.

"So, what would you like?" She asks, tapping her pen on the countertop.

"Just ale for me," Brendon says flatly.

"The Siren sounds good, I'll have that," Joe says as he points to the drink on the menu.

"Do you have milkshakes?" Patrick smiles widely at the bartender and seemingly in sync Brendon, Joe, and the bartender shoot him a strange look.

"Why do you want a milkshake? Order a Bailey's instead, they don't have milkshakes," Joe whispers in Patrick's ear and he nods.

"I'll have a Bailey's instead, sorry about that," Patrick corrects himself, looking a bit disappointed.

"Don't worry, Bailey's is just like a milkshake, but better," Joe reassures, hugging Patrick. Yet another different bartender, Heather, shows up in front of them, this time with a drink. She hands the mug of ale to Brendon.

"Alice will be back with your drinks in a second, but I got Brendon's ready so he gets his a bit early," She smiles and returns to he station. 

Heather was quite right, our second bartender who she called Alice didn't take long to return with Joe and Patrick's drinks. She slides their drinks over the counter.

"Give me a shout if you need anything, okay?" She winks and returns to her station. 

Patrick holds his glass with two hands, like a child, taking a sip. His eyes widen as he tastes the frothy drink.

"It's good!" He smiles, a bit of froth still lingering on his lips. Joe tries desperately to resist kissing Patrick's sweet face so he drinks a bit of his own drink to distract himself. 

It doesn't take long for the bar's regulars, including quite a few of Joe's fishing buddies to approach them, all of them being very friendly and kind to them. Announcing that Patrick is his boyfriend feels oddly natural, and most of his friends are actually proud of him. That is until he notices what he thought was a friend, but that is certainly not the case. Just as he had forgot about him, Andy pops back into his life.


	18. The State Of Massachusetts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gay™

"Hello, faggot," Andy hisses, crossing his arms across his chest. Joe swivels the barstool around to face him. Fuck. Brendon leans over to Joe and whispers in his ear.

"Just ignore him, he just wants your attention," Joe nods and turns the stool back around. If he left him alone and didn't give him what he wanted, he'd go away, right? That's how it generally works in movies so why wouldn't it work with him?

Joe nervously sips his drink, sneaking glances back to make sure Andy wasn't about to attack him. Patrick turns his neck to look at Andy, squinting and sticking his tongue out as if he tastes something foul. Joe can't help but giggle at that, squeezing Patrick's hand for comfort.

The night begins to pass, Andy has yet to confront them again. Patrick has ordered one two many Bailey's, which made him extra excitable and especially cuddly, which Joe was more than happy about.

They decide after already having played skeeball and several rounds of pool, to sing karaoke, which was becoming a tradition for his little group.

Joe isn't nearly as drunk as he was a night or two ago, but still he wasn't sober enough to make sensible song choices. He chooses an new Irish classic, The State Of Massachusetts by Dropkick Murphys. 

He presses the neon button and the song begins, catching them off guard although they should know that the song starts immediately considering how many times they've done this.

"Billy was a bright one, Tommy's off his head, mother loved them both the same at least that's what she said," they shout off key in a barely synchronized manor, swilling their glasses like Irishmen should. They are a laughing stock but they wouldn't change a thing in that moment, this is the most fun they've had in a long time. 

When the song ends, Brendon drops the microphone, creating that obnoxious screech of microphone feedback. They each grab another drink and head for the exit, that's enough fun for the night. 

But their exit is blocked, Andy still is dissatisfied with the lack of attention Joe is giving him. He kicks his leg out in front of the doorway, halting the group.

"You speak when you're spoken to, faggot," Andy grabs hold of Joe's collar. 

"Sorry, I don't respond to faggot, Hurley," even speaking Andy's last name leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He shoves Andy back against the doorframe gripping his throat. Despite the height difference, it is Andy who has the advantage here. 

"I do not wish to speak to you unless you're going to respect me, I've done nothing but respect you this entire time, regardless of how much of an asshole you can be," Joe's tone is smooth and cold, nothing like he had ever sounded before. So much so that it causes the hairs on the back of Brendon's neck to stand up.

Andy grits his teeth, still firmly gripping Joe's collar. He forces Joe into the narrow centre frame of the door. 

"Why did you kiss me? And why did I like it?" Andy asks, becoming a bit choked up. Joe smirks back at him, releasing his throat from his grasp.

"You tell me, Andy, you tell me," he drapes his arm over Patrick's shoulder and simply walks out. He knows that Andy had the answer to his own question, there is no need to answer something he already knows. He was so against it that he didn't give himself any time to realize that he was what he loathed. Joe could hear Andy audibly growling from far behind him.

"Fuck you, faggot! You made me like this!" Andy spits the words out like poison on his tongue when he knows as well as Joe that they aren't true.

"You sure about that there buddy?" Joe doesn't even spare the second it would take for him to look back at Andy, he just turns the corner and walks back down the road to his house. Andy pounds his fist against the doorframe but he doesn't go after Joe. 

"You'll get home alright, Bren?" Joe asks, tossing his head over his shoulder to look at Brendon, who nods in agreement. They part ways, with Brendon heading in the opposite direction as Joe and Patrick continue their walk back. 

With fingers intertwined, Patrick kisses Joe's neck softly as they walk. Surprised, Joe looks down to see the soft blonde locks of hair still tangled in with his crown of broken shells, his rosy cheeks, the love in his eyes, fuck, he is especially beautiful in the dim street lights. Joe pulls Patrick's chin up so their gaze could meet, almost as if he was signalling "lips instead" which Patrick could always understand.

Joe grows tired of having to bend down to reach Patrick's lips and lifts him up instead. Patrick wraps his legs around Joe's waist and curls into him, deepening the kiss and allowing his free hand to explore Joe's wild curls. Patrick opens his eyes slowly, his eyelids heavy and his eyes bright with the light of the golden moon. /Not now, wait until you're home/, Joe continually repeats that simple phrase in his mind over and over to avoid too much temptation. 

Patrick practically had Joe wrapped around his little finger with every blush and smile and kiss he bestowed upon him. Joe quickens his walking pace slightly as Patrick pauses the kissing for a moment. Just long enough to make Joe melt, his rosy cheeked face forming a sleepy grin. It was like Patrick is trying to make this harder for him, but still Joe repeats the same phrase. /Not now, wait until you're home/ They near closer and closer to Joe's house, the anticipation is nearly killing him at this point. /Not now, wait until you're home/ The moment they reach the door is an enormous sigh of relief for Joe. 

"Now, we're home" he sighs out from under his breath as he closes the door behind him with his hip.


	19. Joe hates clothes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> R.I.P to my boyfriend's image of me yikes

He kicks off his shoes as quickly as he possibly can without dropping Patrick or falling over in his drunken state. He walks carefully down the stairs, finding it difficult as Patrick is insistent on kissing him without ceasing. 

He lays Patrick down gently on his bed and rummages through his drawer, nothing. He runs out of the room looking desperately for protection. Dammit, c'mon, it hadn't been that long since he needed one, had it? He slams the drawers around for until he finds one in the top drawer, /Jesus finally/. 

"Joe, come back" Patrick calls from the bedroom, drawing out his name in a sweet yet adorably needy voice. Joe needs him. Right. Now. He rushes back to the bedroom, the already shirtless boy on his bed looks helplessly and longingly at him. It's like he is unintentionally teasing him, which only made Joe want him more. 

He crawls on top of Patrick, with Patrick not being able to wait another moment before kissing him again. Patrick fumbles to pull off Joe's shirt and kiss him at the same time, but he isn't about to stop doing either. He manages to get it off, tossing it across the room carelessly and smiling into Joe's lips. Joe struggles to undo his belt, why did he have to wear a belt? /Stupid move, Joe, stupid move/ he thought to himself. 

He pulls it out of the loops and throws it onto the floor, their kisses remaining unbroken. He slips his jeans off, kicking them behind him and straddling Patrick. The only thing that stands between he and Patrick was the thin pair of jogging pants still on Patrick's body. Sometimes Joe hated clothes, especially in that very moment.

He breaks the kiss only for a moment, checking to see if it was still okay with Patrick, which is met with a vigorous nod and a wide smile. Nothing held him back now. He pulls the jogging pants off effortlessly, grinning back at Patrick. He reaches down to touch him, a loud moan slipping from Patrick's lips in response.

"Woah, easy, I barely touched you," Joe chuckles. Maybe it feels better for someone who's never had genitals before? He wouldn't know. 

"Good... more..." Patrick breathes out slowly. Joe grins deviously and complies, eliciting another loud moan which he met with a kiss to silence him. 

He can't help but imagine how Patrick will sound when he goes further. He didn't want to leave this to the imagination for much longer either. He strokes Patrick again and again until he can't take it any longer.

He fumbles for the condoms that he left on the bedside table and prepares himself, Patrick becoming increasingly impatient at the lack of physicality. Patrick whimpers quietly, kissing Joe's neck to satisfy himself even slightly. Joe knows he can't just do this without preparing Patrick for it, he didn't want to hurt him. 

He lubricates his fingers and looks down at Patrick, who had only stopped his romantic assault on Joe's neck briefly, looking blissfully happy. God, Joe loves that look Patrick gave him, it was perhaps one of his favourites. He slips in one finger and Patrick somehow manages to moan far louder than he had before.

"Jesus that's only one, Patrick, are you sure you'll be able to take more?" Joe is slightly concerned but Patrick doesn't seem worried in the least.

"Yes, more please," Patrick moans out softly, his cheeks pink and sweaty. Joe kisses Patrick as he slips another in, stifling Patrick's moan. Patrick could handle this, he was in a clear state of bliss at that. 

Joe removes his fingers and looks down at Patrick once more, laying there wearing a blissful smile written on his face. Joe kisses Patrick more passionately than he ever had before, inserting himself into Patrick. 

Patrick whimpers quietly with Joe's every move and thrust, that sound was music to Joe's ears. Patrick squirms slightly beneath Joe, whining softly as he let go. Joe would be lying if he said Patrick's face in that moment wasn't the most beautiful he had ever seen him make.

Patrick breaks the kiss and looks up at Joe, his face riddled with embarrassment. 

"I-I'm sorry, I made a mess of you," Patrick says, his voice cracking and his eyes welling up with tears. Joe wears a worried expression as he removes himself from Patrick. 

"That's completely okay Patrick, you didn't do anything wrong, it's totally normal," Joe reassures. He figures Patrick is so upset because he didn't know that what he did was a completely natural reaction to stimulation due to lack of experience with genitals prior to this. 

"Don't you worry, we'll get cleaned up and it will all be fine, okay?" Joe smiles and kisses Patrick neatly on one of his rosy cheeks. Patrick rubs the tears from his eyes and nods in agreement. Joe grabs a few tissues from the box in the table's drawer and wipes off himself and the bed, discarding the tissues and the condom in the trashcan next to him.

"See? Everything's okay, now we can go to bed, alright? It's late." Joe pulls the comforter down and readjusts the pillows. He crawls into bed and invites Patrick to come sleep next to him, which of course, he happily accepts.

Joe gets up to shut the lamp off and quickly crawls back in. He pulls the comforter over top of them and Patrick curls into him, leaving hardly any breathing room, but Joe wasn't about to complain or protest. Joe wraps his arms around Patrick and pulls him even closer, with Patrick snuggling into his chest.

"G'night Patrick, love you," Joe whispers, playing with Patrick's hair. Patrick falls asleep with pink toned cheeks and the smallest smile on his lips. Joe pushes Patrick's hair from his eyes and plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. Patrick's innocent face is incredibly beautiful to Joe. 

"Thank you for giving me the best night of my life."


End file.
